


Freely We Serve

by WolvesOfParadise



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Death, Mafia AU, Multi, Peter uses spiderman as an alias, Pining, Slow Burn, an au where nobody is a fucking superhero, idk what to tag this as but, injuries, its gay, its really really gay, mf cops yo, more tags and people to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-23 06:27:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14928950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolvesOfParadise/pseuds/WolvesOfParadise
Summary: He never realized he'd fall so quickly for someone.He also never realized how badly everything could end.(Written with Andromeda and Peculiar-Headphones)





	1. Empty Space

The floor was filthy. It was covered in blood, pools of it stretching from area to area, streaks and smears of it running rampant throughout the storage room. There were bloody footprints and handprints, along with various puddles of other unidentifiable fluids that came from the fight that had gone down. Bullet casings and shattered knife blades were also bestrewn around, hidden in the small shadows that were created by the bodies that were lying here and there, hidden in the shadows of the storage containers as well.

 

The numerous skylights above gave enough lighting that James Barnes could see the room in great detail.  He didn’t need light to be able to hear the moans of pain that all the injured men- both from his group and the group that had come for confrontation. The majority of those killed and injured were from the opposite side, although there were several non-fatal injuries for James’s side.

 

He held his pistols with grace, he had a twin set that was gifted to him by someone close to him long ago that he uses now with poise and care. He didn’t like using them, however, he used them when he had to. James didn’t like the thought of killing- he didn’t like the thought of what he was _actually_ using the weapons for. But he did it regardless, for he had a mafia to run after all. He needed to be the strong one, the leader.

 

Even though he made his followers do most of the dirty work. He thought it was a fair trade, him planning and scheming night after night with no sleep, and the men executing his plans. It allowed them to take more money and lose less blood, and it allowed him to stay with a relatively clean conscience.

 

But he doesn’t live in denial. He knows he must kill.

 

Bucky takes out a handkerchief from his pocket, carefully wiping blood from his beloved pistols, and putting them back into his holster. He gives the bloodied fabric to one of his privates, Clint Barton.

 

“Make sure there’s no incriminating evidence of us left at the scene, but do leave a few bodies as a message to anyone else who tries to fuck with us.” Bucky orders, a bit too harshly, but he’s tired and it’s not like any of his men would dare to complain.

 

“You got it, Boss” Clint says, all too light heartedly. James just side-glances him, irritation making itself apparent with his facial features.

 

“Just get it done by morning, we paid off the night cops, but their shift changes at 7.”

 

It wasn’t easy to keep an entire squad off this street, but James always has his ways.

 

“Yes, yes I got it Boss,” Clint waves his hand at him dismissively, and turns around to walk away and get to work.

 

And thus, James decided he could really use a drink right now.

 

“Hold on.”

 

Clint barely hesitates in his stride as he looks over his shoulder to look at his boss. “What is it?”

 

“The boys can handle the clean up this time, go to the bar with me,” James says, the sentence balancing between an order and a question, more hesitant than anything. It’s not like Clint ever _didn’t_ go out with everyone, but the more James thought about it, the more he began to realize.

 

When _was_ the last time he and Clint had gone out to the bar together? It must’ve been a while, as James’s memory usually wasn't that hazy.

 

“First off, I could never say no to booze, boss-man. Second of all, ONLY if you promise that you’re not gonna get drunk and hit on me. Again” Clint replied with a wink, tossing his head as if he had long hair (is he trying to make fun of buckys long hair?) - when in reality he really didn’t.

 

Clint signaled to his men, the ones that were supposedly going to clean up the giant mess that they had created. Yes, Bucky knew sign language. Yes, he could use it, but at some points, Clint signed so rapidly and so quickly that James literally could not keep up with him. At the same time, however, he was struggling to find a comeback for what Clint had said.

 

But, Clint apparently had the same idea.

 

“If you wanted a comeback, you should’ve wiped it off your own chin after last night, babe,” Clint quipped again, smirking over his shoulder at James.

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Ah, ah, ah- you wish you could, White Wolf.”

  


\-------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The bar was crowded, to say the least. It was surprising that Clint and James could actually find a place to sit, let along manage to order drinks with the amount of people packed into the tiny ass bar.

 

This, of course, made James sulky. Clint, who already had at least three shots in him- James stopped counting after the second one- found this absolutely hilarious. James was pouting like a four year old, a single drink in front of him that was half empty.

 

Clint turned to James with a smile, “Boss-man, you gotta stop doing that with your face, you will get wrinkles. Go flirt with someone, you could use a distraction.”

 

“As if you would know, Barton. It’s not as if you’re carrying the weight of an entire fucking-” He lowers his voice. “ _Mafia_ on your back.”

 

Clint rolls his eyes, and gives a halfhearted snort. He knows by now that yes, the stress does get to James, and yes, it can be quite challenging, but as well he knows that at this point if James is bitching about it, he’s kidding.

 

For the most part anyways.

 

“You know better than to bitch about our lives to me, Boss. Now do what I said and take a look around. I’ll order you another drink even.”

 

James looked around the bar, his eyes gazing over nothing but excessively drunk people, all too loud and all not his type.

 

“Hey, how about that cute one over there?” Barton asks, point at someone behind James.

 

Partly out of curiosity, and partly to humor his friend, James turn to look. If Clint was calling someone hot, it was reason enough to actually look in the first place. Through the drunk crowds of people, a tall, muscular, blond man was attempting to make his way through them, having obviously just come in from the street outside. James felt his face flush, which he hoped wasn’t visible to anyone else in the bar.

 

“I’m sorry Clint, are you deaf _and_ blind? That man isn’t cute, he’s hot!” James quipped, ducking his head in embarrassment at his bold statement. But as he sees the new, mysterious man laugh at something his friend said, James flushes again, because goddamn he’s cute and hot at the same time and it’s both making James flush _and_ shiver at the same time.

 

Clint was watching James’s facial expressions, he could see that within a solid five seconds, James was already head over heels for this man, and he planned to do something about it. He ordered another round of shots, and pushed both of them directly in front of James, while also nudging his hand towards them. Without breaking his somewhat lustful gaze at the new blond man in the building, he takes both shots without hesitation, one after the other.

 

“Go flirt with him, James,” Clint says yet again, hoping that maybe the alcohol will have an effect on how stubborn James truly is.

 

Barnes eyes the man again, hoping that he’s somewhat subtle. “Clint, look he’s here with his girlfriend, I’m not going to go and embarrass myself in from of him.”

 

He glares at the woman, he hates to admit but she is attractive looking. The redhead is shorter, but has a strong build. Meanwhile, James came back from a serious fight, dirty and tired, so he feels like he can’t compete.

 

“Here,” Clint says, slightly amused, as he hands James a small hand mirror from the inner pocket of his jacket. “Use this to fix your shitty appearance.”

 

“Thanks, asshole,” James mutters, but does use the mirror to fix hair. He likes to think that his hair is his strong point. “Fuck me, it’s still too short for a ponytail, isn’t it?”

 

Clink just barely glances at his hair, and dismisses him with a wave of a hand as he fiddles with the straw in his drink. “If you really want to try to put it up, I even have an extra hair band in my pocket. Don’t ask why, just accept it.”

 

James nodded slowly, perplexed as of- _why exactly did Clint have a hair tie?_ But as the other had said, he accepted it, took the hair tie, and put his hair up into a slightly less shitty looking ponytail. Downing another shot, with his back to where the Hot guy was standing with his female friend, he gathered enough courage and mental support from Clint and went to stand, pushing his bar stool back.

 

And just as he stood, someone sat down in the seat directly next to him.

 

_Oh, mother fucker-_

 

James whips around to hiss at whoever the hell sat next to him right as he had enough courage to go talk to the amazingly good looking guy across the room, and opens his mouth to say some very-not-nice words…

 

He feels his lungs physically deflate and his mind go blank.

 

_Fuck_

James Buchanan Barnes cannot believe his fucking luck today. First, the fight between some small little gang that wanted to challenge James’s mafia, which didn’t end in casualties for his side, but did end in some injuries. Even though James wasn't actually injured, it still exhausted the hell out of him.  The next piece of luck for him that day was the Hot Guy sitting right next to him. The same Hot Guy that he had been eyeing from across the bar the _entire_ fucking time. The third piece of luck was Clint grinning at him like an idiot, nudging at him with his foot. For some reason, James thinks that the fight wasn’t so bad now, compared to the current situation.

 

“Hey,” The hot guys says, smoothly. Of course he’s smooth. Everything about him so far has been smooth. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

 

He says it with a smile, as if he was actually interested in talking to James and Clint. He extends his hand forward quickly and casually, and James accepts that he is a dead man.

 

After not responding for a few second, and just blinking at the man, Barnes feels another kick to his leg from Clint. He is going to fire that fucker.

 

“James Barnes,” he finally manage to say. “And that’s my friend over there, Clint Barton.” At that, Clint playfully waves his hand, smiling as if he hasn’t been annoying Barnes this entire time.  

 

“Would you like to introduce me too, Rogers?” says the woman, whom James forgot about, too focused on trying to keep his composure around the hot blond, Steve. James faces falls into a slight grimace. He really doesn’t feel like being introduced to Steve’s girlfriend.

 

“I apologize, this is my friend Natasha. I’m pretty sure she would kill me if I gave away her last name.” Steve says with a small chuckle, one that’s small yet big enough to make his eyes close in laughter. James feels his heart skip a beat, and yet he visibly relaxes at hearing Steve say friend. Surely if he was involved with

Natasha, he would introduce her properly, right? But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t straight. James could feel the frustration pooling inside him.

 

How can he plan mafia attacks, lead difficult negotiations, and shoot a man between his eyes, but not be able to figure out if Steve, sitting a foot away from him, is into men.

 

 _Is he gay?_ James stared at the man curiously, completely forgetting that staring really isn't a socially acceptable thing. Everything about the man completely set off James’s gaydar, but it had been wrong before, and James really couldn't take his chances.

 

And then, Clint said something that James didn’t hear but everyone else did, and Steve laughed.

 

Steve _laughed._

 

And James was way too caught up in watching the way that Steve’s mouth moved when he laughed, and watching just his body language in general, to realize that Steve was talking to him. Or at least, trying to.

 

“-th to James.”

 

James snapped to attention, looking at Clint, who had spoken.

 

“What?”

 

Clint snorted out a laugh. “Look, it’s established contact again. Steve was trying to talk to you. How many drinks have you had, man?”

 

“I didn't even finish drinking this crap,” James barked back at Clint in irritation. He is his boss, and he dares to embarrass him in front of this incredibly good looking guy?

 

Steve only smiles at the interaction.

 

“Well maybe that one wasn’t to your liking. How about I buy you another?” He says sweetly, putting his arm on the bar table and resting his chin on his hand. Then the bastard winks.

 

Winks damn it.

 

Was Steve _trying_ to fucking kill him?

 

“Get whatever you want, love. I’m paying for it.” James physically feels a shiver run up his spine and he almost chokes on air. He can see Clint failing at hitting on Natasha in the background, but by the looks of it, she’s finding it amusing. Clint meets his eyes, and winks.

 

So, when James balks at ordering another drink, Steve slides his chair a bit closer to James’s, and orders one of the more costly drinks.

 

“I’ve had it before,” Steve says with a smirk. “I’ve had a lot of things before, but this is the one thing I always come back to.”

 

James reads over the small ingredient list on the menu right underneath the drink that Steve had ordered them. Most of it sounded good, but James balked when it came to the vanilla extract shot. It just didn’t seem like his thing, is all.

 

“Do you like vanilla?” James inquired, putting the menu down and looking at Steve who seemed so visibly relaxed in the bar seat.

 

“I prefer a different type of vanilla.” Steve replied, oh so goddamn casually, sipping on his drink.

 

James flushes, and prays that the dim lighting of the bar would hide the color of his face yet again. He opens his mouth to try to reply, closes it and opens it again. Just as he about muster out a reply he feels his burner phone vibrate in his pocket.

 

Fuck. That means it’s business.

 

“Uh mind if I check that. Work, you know?”

 

“Go ahead, I don’t mind.” Steve says kindly, and James feels a tug in his chest when he catches something akin to disappointment cross Steve’s face. He tried to hide it with a small smile, but it still hurt to see that.

 

Checking the text, James curses underneath his breath. His men seem to be in a position where they wouldn’t be able to handle everything themselves, and they needed his help. As much as James liked this Steve guy, he can’t compromise everything he’s worked for, fought for and built, along with his men.

 

“I’m sorry Steve, I have to leave- my work needs me for something very important.” James is all back to his work mode, attitude totally serious. It’s like his drunkenness and flustered state vanished within a millisecond. He because a completely different person.

 

“Wait-”

 

But James is already turning around to look for Clint. When he catches his friend’s eyes, he quickly signs at him what exactly is going on, that it’s work and that Clint can stay at the bar, and begins to make his way through the crowd and to the exit. Steve is too slow to catch James before he makes his swift exit, and ends up just standing there in the middle of the bar floor, a tightly folded piece of paper in his hand.

 

He’s beyond disappointed. James was a very attractive man who seemed to be into Steve just as much as Steve was into him- and he didn’t even get the chance to give him his number.

Some job he must have, though. To have to move as soon as a call comes in. Steve smirked, he had a job that was as demanding as that. So, he really couldn’t get mad at James. Sure, he was frustrated. He turned back to Natasha, and the man that she was flirting with.

  


However, there _was_ one more way to get his phone number to James.

 

Ah yes, his name was Clint Barton, and he was someone who Steve could get to James through.


	2. Stop Being Pathetic and Text the Man

Steve was walking down the dimly lit street, humming to himself, and feeling satisfied with his chat with that attractive man in the bar. He hoped James would call him soon, trusting that Clint guy to deliver the piece of paper. He usually wasn't nervous around people- especially when he found one attractive. This time, though, it was different. And yet he didn’t know the reason why.

 

He reached his destination, an old looking building, grey and abandoned. He opened the rusty door, liking the view before him.

 

A short man was tied to a chair, his face forming ugly purple bruises and was stained with blood. Cuts leaked the red liquid, but they didn’t seem to have formed from blades. They were impact wounds, and Steve knew exactly who had caused these wounds.

 

Sam Wilson, his right hand man, and loyal friend, looked up at Steve.

 

“Hey there, Boss,” he greeted, not even pausing and wiping up the blood from his brass knuckles.

 

“I mean, I do like what I see here, but what exactly is going on? My apologies for being late, I was out for drinks with Black Widow, and we got caught up with a couple people.” Steve asked and supplied, just watching as Sam bent down to look the tied up man in the eye.

 

“This here is a man who’s with the _other_ mafia in the town.” Sam said, his fist connecting with the side of the man’s face again. It took very minimal effort, as Sam was a very strong and well exercised man.

 

Steve stopped. _Other mafia?_

 

“There’s another mafia in the town?” Steve said, leaning back against the wall, his arms  crossing. “I thought it was just some low life gang.”

 

“Yeah and according to this fella, the White Wolf will make us pay for this move.” Sam repeated what the man tied in the chair cried earlier, almost amused at the attempt to threaten him.

 

“The White Wolf.” Steve repeated, “Good enough for me.” He finishes, and takes out his gun, pointing it at the man, aiming it between his eyes. The man, who had cried out again when Sam hit him once more, fell silent as he stared at the gun and stared at Steve.

 

“This’ll send a good message to your _White Wolf._ Maybe he’ll learn that he can’t fuck with us.”

 

The gunshot was loud, very loud, but nobody in the room flinched. They were all way too used to hearing gunshots and seeing blood, that it no longer phased them. The blood splattered the back of the chair and the floor behind it, and the man slumped forward.

 

A steady drip of blood began from the dead man’s forehead onto the floor, and Steve looked at it in disgust.

 

“Clean this up,” He said to nobody in particular, yet everyone in the vicinity of him moved to get started.

 

“Sam, you follow me. Black Widow is waiting to meet at the hotel. I wanna talk logistics.” Steve calls for his right hand, and knows Sam is already following him without looking back.

 

Sam pats Steve on his shoulder as he catches up to him, smiling at the fact that it’s okay for him to do, but if he any other man, Steve would have already grabbed his hand to twist it behind his back and break it.

 

The sounds of cleaning up behind them was a sort of soothing sound to Steve, and he smiled knowing that his men had his back no matter what. Sam gave Steve a side glance and smirked. They exited the building, and Sam motioned with a hand to the car that was parked and waiting for them.

 

“What’s got you in such a good mood today, Boss? You never smile, and I know damn well it’s not me who put you in a good mood.”

 

Sam opened the car door for Steve and got in after him, and knocked on the window with his knuckles on one hand twice to signal to the driver to go. It was dark outside where their building was, hidden in a part of town that wasn’t well lit, and wasn’t safe after dark.

 

Well, unless you had protection like Steve did.

 

It was just a ten minute or so long car ride, and Sam seemed happy to start it off by teasing Steve relentlessly about the smil that Steve had a few minutes beforehand. It wasn’t usual to see Steve in such a good mood, Sam relented, and he wanted to take advantage of it while he could. Perks of being a right hand man included the ability to tease and joke around with the mafia boss without _fucking dying_ in response.

 

“So who’d you fuck this time,” Sam said, oh so casually, and Steve felt his face go red in response.

 

“I didn’t _fuck_ anyone, Sam!” He exclaimed, shooting a dirty look Sam’s direction that was well ruined by the blush on his face. “I mean, I wanted to, but I couldn’t even get his number.”

 

“Ahhh, so that’s why you were so distracted while you were at the bar. You said you were gonna call me when you were done with your meeting with Black Widow at the bar, but I never got a call.”

 

“Yeah, I got caught up with...someone.”

 

“Well, _I_ was gonna call _you_ , but before I could, my men brought in that man that no longer exists. He didn’t give us much useful information besides the name ‘White Wolf’.” Sam glanced over at Steve again, who was looking out the window intently. “You’re not telling me the whole truth. Who’d you meet at the bar?”

 

“A man.” Steve replied, not giving a fuck if Sam cared or not about names. He wasn’t about to tell him the man’s name just yet. He also knew that Sam knew that he’s into both males and females, and that he’s had several relationships with men that never actually worked out long term.

 

Sam also tended to relentlessly give Steve shit about being into men too, but deep down Steve knew that Sam loved him just as much. He was his right hand man after all, there had to be some sort of bond between them.

 

“Mhmm, was he cute?”

 

“Very.”

 

Sam chuckled a bit at the quick and confident response, knowing that if Steve found someone attractive, they _must_ be attractive.

 

“You gave them your number, right? Because it’ll be good for you to get out with someone, anyone.” He hesitated for a second, unsure if what he was about to say was crossing the line for a bit. “Steve?”

 

Steve made a noise in response and turned his head to look at Sam.

 

“I know that the leadership is getting to you. We can all see it. You’re gonna work yourself too hard if you don’t start easing up on yourself and then it’ll get you killed.”

 

Steve fixed a hard, cold look at Sam and replied with an equally cold voice, “I’m fine.”

 

“Boss, we don’t think lesser of you. Hell, I’m pretty sure that anyone else in your position would’ve fuckin’ died by now. I’m trying to watch out for you as a friend, not a right hand man.”

 

Steve considered what Sam said for half a second, his brow becoming apparent on his forehead. Then his expression hardened and he snarled at Sam without hesitation.

 

“I’m fine. Don’t question what I say, I am your boss, and you _will_ follow my orders and you will _not_ question me.”

 

Sam didn’t flinch, didn’t have any reaction. He knew this was possibly going to happen, he knew that he was most likely going to be told off. So, he took Steve’s harsh tone of voice and scathing words with a feather, but still put out a submissive gesture by lowering his head. He knew that his words were correct, he knew that he was right- and he knew that Steve understood that as well. But, Steve was too stubborn to give in, even if he had the chance of dying in the process.

 

So, despite taking Steve’s words with a grain of salt, he submitted, and gave a meek response as their driver pulled the car up to the outside of the hotel.

 

“Yes, boss…”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Midnight was approaching as Steve and Sam entered the hotel room, finding the person that they had come to see, Black Widow, sitting elegantly on the bed with papers scattered all around her. She smirked as she saw them.

 

“Hello there, boys.” She said. She could see the look on their faces, and knew that in the car on the way there, Sam had said something to piss Steve off. So, she took what information she had and began to spell it out for them delicately, in an attempt to soothe Steve’s mood.

 

“I gather that your conversation went pleasant with Clint, Romanova.  Did you get any useful information about the city from him?” Steve cuts straight to business with her, knowing that if he lets her joke with him right now, it will be hard to shut her up. Besides, he can’t lose in her game of wits if he doesn’t play at all.

 

“Why yes, Clint Branton was quite the gentleman, eager to help the new girl in town.” She replies, all too innocently, as if Steve has never witnessed her murder in cold blood. Black Widow continues, ignoring the pointed look  her boss was giving her, “I told him how concerned I was about the city being safe, batted my eyelashes at him, and unsurprisingly he spilled a lot. He assured me that the police here are quite incorrupt and keep a tight grip a the city.”

 

“Every cop can be bought. There was no cop insight at a highly patrolled area, where we hit those guys.” Steve pointed out, still in disbelief how lucky he got, being able to make a move on the territory so soon after moving here. He felt like his mafia would do well here.

 

“Ah, yes, so I said, but he said he would protect me in that case. He was adorable, really.”

 

Steve threw her a teasing look, which she met with an even gaze. “You know damn well that I’m not currently looking for anyone.”

 

In an attempt to change the subject before one of them killed the other, Sam looked at the papers scattered around the Black Widow. “So you’ve looked at my notes then, huh? What do you think?”

 

“Yes, let’s see what you guys found out for me.” Steve says and sits down at the table near the bed. Sam remained standing, always ready for a fight, with his guard up. He glanced down at Black Widow. She may look relaxed and vulnerable, sitting casually on the bed, but he knows that she’s just like Steve, a ruthless fighter.

 

“Alright, so Falcon helped me look at newspapers, public records, and the such. We looked at any mention of gang activity. Nothing major seems to have been reported thought.”

 

“Well according to the man I just shot, there’s a mafia in control here. A rather large one as well, Lead by a leader under the name of White Wolf”

 

“Hmm” Widow hummed. “That complicates our plan to quickly gather control of the city, doesn’t it?”

 

“Yes,” Sam supplies at Steve’s silence, “but here’s what I noticed. Quite recently, everytime the cops fail to catch gang members or arrest them, the same squad leader is involved.”

 

Sam reaches his hand out towards Black Widow, and she gave him a file full of papers and newspaper clippings. Sam walked towards Steve, and placed the folder on the table. He still didn’t sit down, however. He watched as Steve looked at the folder, opening it to gaze over the contents inside.

 

“This man,” Sam points a photo of a man on one of the papers, “is always the one calling the one in charge of the patrol when some shady business gets done.”

 

“Interesting.” Steve thanked Sam and Natasha for the information and began to think of a way that they could use this to their advantage. “And how recently did you say this pattern showed up?”

 

“A couple months it seems,” Sam tells him.

 

“Hm. Something tells me he’s not doing this because he a crooked, greedy cop. He must be really desperate for money. Good thing we have a lot of that. We can use him for police intel.”

 

Steve closed the folder, and stood up. As he went to stand, Sam stretched out a hand to him, as a support to get up. Steve eyed the hand for a moment before taking it and using it to boost himself up. He took a step away, and then pointed the folder at his right hand man and ordered, confident that Sam will obey him.

 

“Sam, I need you find dig up and find out more information on this man. I want to meet with him for a little chat.”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

 

James Barnes was sitting at one of his mafia headquarters, a small and quiet restaurant where he launders money. Out of all the locations he owned across the city, this is the one he always comes to sulk in. The waiter brought Barnes a glass of brandy, without him even asking for it, which Barnes appreciated, but on the other hand realizes how much his line of work caused him to wallow in self pity with alcohol in his hand.

 

He was still so tired from dealing with the surprise hit on his men from the night before. One of his men is missing and James wasn’t too naive to think he would come back alive. He took a slow sip of the brandy, staring at the hazy reflection that can be seen in the liquor.

 

He looked awful. Being a good leader, scheming, fighting and cleaning up messes takes a lot of his time. He didn’t have the time to take care of himself or his love life.

 

Which reminded him of Steve. James cursed himself for leaving without a way to contact the man again. Would it be stupid and desperate for him to go back to the bar again and see if Steve came back? Even if that worked James still felt like he didn’t deserve to be with the handsome blonde man. He smiled so wide and happy, talking to James but dating the boss of the mafia would probably wipe that smile off his face sooner or later. He didn’t want Steve to be in risk of danger, and even if James could hire all the protection his money could get, that didn’t mean that he could keep his criminal life a secret from the guy.

 

Imagining Steve finding out about all the blood on his hands made James physically shiver. He didn’t want Steve to look at him with disappointment or sadness. Or worse of all, fear.

 

He only wanted Steve to look at him with the same charming smile from the other night. The only other expression James wanted to see more that wretched smile is that of lust. How good would Steve look flushed all over, preferably laying underneath him.

 

James quickly dismissed that thought. There’s no point in him getting his hopes up. Better for him occupy his head with thoughts on what to do next now that his men were hit.

 

He pondered this for a few minutes, staring into nothing and wondering. He was confused, the amount of emotions that coursed through his body was that of the unknown- he had not allowed himself to feel in such a long time. He groaned inwardly and put his head into his hands. Here he was, acting like a teenager, visibly flustered by a man who he never really had talked to.

 

“Hey, boss-man, you doing alright?” Came a voice. Of course, the voice came from the _one_ person that James didn’t want to see that night- Clint.

 

James lifted his head and gave Clint half of a fake smile in response. “I’m all good.”

 

“Boss, I literally just heard you groan.”

 

 _Oh fuck,_ James cringed. _That was supposed to be non-verbal._

 

“Is this about that guy from last night? Steve?”

 

James snorted slightly and took the rest of the drink in his glass down in one swallow. “I hate that you know me too well, Barton.”

 

“That I do. That I do.” Clint said slowly, and the way he stared at James told him that Clint knew something that he didn’t. That left James with another strange, confused feeling, since usually it was the other way around. Clint should never be allowed to have that kind of power. And yet, he had it.

 

“What are you looking at Hawkeye?” James said as he glared at his friend, purposely using his field nickname to annoy him right back.

 

“Oh, you know, just staring at a sad little mafia leader who lost the love of his life.” Clint replied, using a teasing and somewhat condescending tone of voice. James glared at him, and raised his hand to signal to the bartender that yes, he did want another drink.

 

“Fuck you, Barton.”

 

“Oh please, everyone wants to know by now that you want to fuck that handsome blonde from last night. Too bad you don’t have his number.”

 

James slammed his hands down on the table and used the force to stand up at the same time, frightening the poor waitress who was bringing James his drink. He was basically bristling with anger, extremely salty at the way that Clint was talking to him.

 

Honestly, James thought, if anyone else had been talking to James like that, he would have shot them by now. Fed up with Clint’s shit, James backed up from the table and his chair, completely ready to leave so he didn’t absolutely murder Clint, and stopped in his tracks when he called after him in a sing song voice.

 

“Oh, you are leaving already? I guess you don’t want his number huh?” Clint gave him an exaggerated pout, taking a small piece of  paper out of his pocket.

 

James shot back around, his eyes as wide as bowling balls as he basically flung himself at Clint, trying to get the piece of paper. Clint was prepared, though, he’d dealt with James before- he tended to actually act like a twelve year old at some points- and he raised his foot and planted it directly into James’s chest to keep him from getting the paper.

 

“Ah, ah, ah!!” Clint said, dangling the paper above James’s head. Since Clint was seated on a barstool, it made it easier to keep things above his head. “What’s the magic word?”

 

“Fuck you, Clint, give me the goddamn paper.”

 

“Aweh, it looks like someone doesn’t the paper that badly, then,” Clint replied, smirking.

 

James considered, for a split second, pulling his gun on Clint. But then he stopped himself because he knew that Clint wouldn’t be phased because he knew that James wouldn’t actually do it.

 

Clint had him in a corner, and James knew the only way to get what he wanted was to give in. And he hated it.

 

“So what’s it gonna be, boss-man? You gonna say the magic word?”

 

James hesitated, and then hesitated some more. Finally, he mumbled the exact words that Clint wanted to hear, James’s chest still pressed against Clint’s foot, arms still reaching out for the piece of paper.

 

“What was that?” Clint asked, knowing exactly what James said, but wanting him to say it louder.

 

“Please.”

 

“Good boy,” Clint said, amusement coloring his voice and James gave Clint a look that would make small children cry. And yet, Clint still wasn’t phased.

 

Clint kicked James back by his chest and then basically threw the piece of paper at him. James eagerly snatched up the piece of paper, clumsily trying to open it. Yeah, he had a few drinks in him and was having a bit of trouble keeping his strong and cold demeanor up. He had basically turned into a sixteen year old girl, freaking out over a boy’s phone number.

 

Ah, life was good. Especially for the leader of a mafia.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that week the White Wolf had finally managed to get progress on finding out who had tried to mess with his mafia done. It had been a few days since he found out that one of his men had been killed outside of a raid that they had planned- they had found his body in one of the controlled alleyways.

 

He was currently discussing intel with one of his wards- not really one of his men per se, but one of the people that he went to when he was needing information about things.

 

Spiderman, a fidgety, young hacker, was the main source of all their intelligence. The young boy was way too bratty and talkative to involve himself with the mafia, but James had to admit he was incredibly talented, and needed greatly.

 

Barnes tried his best to keep Spiderman out of the bloody side of his work.

 

His phone vibrated, indicating the incoming call from the teenager. Barnes picked up the phone and put it on speaker, so in all, he, Clint, and two of his main guards could hear him.

 

“Uh, hello Mr.White Wolf, sir?” Came the nervous voice, it was a medium pitch, and definitely showed the kid’s age. Well, so did the nervousness.

 

James slowly rubbed his eyes at the kid’s incredibly awkward way of addressing him. It was embarrassing, especially since Clint, who he saw smirking from his peripheral vision, would never let him live this down.

 

He chose to ignore Spiderman’s greeting, fully knowing that if it didn’t do anything correcting the kid the first fifty times, it sure as hell wouldn’t do anything now.

 

“What did you find, kid? I could use some good news.” James said, cutting straight to the point.

 

“Um yes I have a bit of news. Not sure if it’s like, good, though? I mean it kinda good and bad depending on how you look at it? Oh god, please don’t be mad if the news is bad news?” Spiderman began to talk entirely too much and entirely too fast at once, easily made anxious over the tone of voice that James had.

 

James didn’t give the teen much time to panic, as he cut him off, asking, “Kid, can you just give us the info? You know damn well that I’m not going to be angry with you, but I _will_ get angry if you keep me waiting.”

 

“Right, right, my apologies, Mr. White Wolf, sir”

 

Spiderman explained how he had been digging around the in the police department’s recent reports. He found that there has been some hits on small gangs and powerful people in the city, with a clear mafia M.O.

 

“And, on top of all that shit, they think you and your men are responsible, sir”

 

“Yes, and unless I’m going crazy, I know I didn’t order any of this.”

 

“You might indeed be going crazy, boss, crazy in love” Clint, unhelpfully suggested. . Suddenly Clint’s incredible talents with a bow and arrow, gun, and cleaning up were not needed. James’s hands twitched with the sudden urge to whoop his second in command’s ass.

 

“Did you find anything else that’s interesting?” James forced himself to focus back to the issue at hand. He’d properly murder Clint later.

“Uh, well I also looked at the land ownership database for the city as well, and just about the same time the hits were reported, several large, empty buildings and two warehouses were bought. But I can’t look into who bought them. The probably did the sale with paper trail only. Would be cool if I could hack paper files. Just yeet those guys’ names into my computer, to be honest. That’d be cool.”

 

James stopped short, halfway through forming the beginning of a sentence.

 

“I’m sorry...yeet? Did he just say that? That isn’t a word?”

 

Clint explains, “You’re just old.”

 

Ignoring his friend once again, James addressed the kid “Okay, thanks for the intel, this is good for now. But keep a lookout for any more suspicious activity. Also here’s what I need you to find out for my next job.” Barnes then gives him the instructions and tells him how much he will pay for the next intel.

 

“Understood, sir” The younger hacker quips, like he’s a child playing spy with his friend.

 

“Great.” Barnes sighs, he supposed Spiderman was right. The news were good and bad.

 

“I want our protection to be increased at all locations, leave no weak spot for this new mafia to try and attack.” he ordered this two guards, and dismissed them with a hand. He gave his full trust to the two men, and he knew that they would not let him down in the process.

 

Now he could deal with Clint. He turned to him, hoping that his face showed the exact amount of irritation he felt inside.

 

“You need to stop saying shit like that when I am trying to conduct business, Clint.” He said, his voice colder than Hell, Michigan in the middle of December.

 

“He’s just a kid, Barnes, it’s healthy to keep the conversation light with him. Besides, I don’t think you can ever get him to see you as the big scary mob boss you think you are. He once asked me if you were a furry because you told him to only call you White Wolf.”

 

“Clint, what the fuck is a furry?” Barnes had it up to here with all the slang Clint and Spiderman kept throwing at him. It was such bullshit, and it was also giving him a headache. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

 

Clint was lucky that James loved him enough to keep him as his right hand man.

 

“You know you can’t blame me at all for making fun of your love life. Where would be without me? Oh that’s right you be sulking at a bar with no hot guy’s number.” Clint gave a half laugh, lightly teasing James at this point. He knew that he should probably begin backing off of the man, his emotions were running wild and he didn’t want to actually hurt the man.

 

“Shut it, Hawkeye.” James snarled, and Clint chose that moment to change the course of conversation to something that _wasn’t_ so likely to get him killed.

“Speaking of, did you even call him? Or at least text?”

 

Clint’s question was met with silence, and Barnes crossed his arms in defence.

 

“You are pathetic. Text him, you coward.”

 

The brunett was met with another drawn out silence, and when he raised an eyebrow in James’s direction, he was met with a worldless whine. Kinda like a toddler that didn’t get his way.

 

Clint just shrugged in response, and turned to leave. He had business to take of after all, and he felt like now at least his old friend will text the cute guy out of spite for Clint. James just absolutely loved going out of his way to prove people wrong.

 

Huffing, the White Wolf picked his phone up from where he left it on the table, and opened up his contact list. He hesitated, his finger hovering over the number that had the name ‘Steve Rogers’ attached to it. He was slightly scared, but a little excited, and he could feel his heart beating in his chest.

 

Clint was still standing in the doorway, and James was completely oblivious to his presence in the room. Clint gave a soft smile at the lopsided grin on James’s face.

 

It was good, he thought, for the boss-man to find someone who’ll be good to him for a while. It’ll definitely take some stress off him, that’s for sure.

 

Clint watched as James’s fingers began to fly over his phone’s keyboard, furiously typing. He still had that damn grin on his face- he looked like a lovesick teenager, not the boss of a ruthless mafia. It was adorable, really. And, he saw the White Wolf’s expression go from happiness and excitement to complete and utter horror within three seconds.

 

“Boss?”

James Barnes.exe has stopped working.

 

He looked up at Clint in horror. His mouth moved, but the words were too quiet for half-deaf Clint to hear. Clint raised an eyebrow, and James’s hands moved furiously, signing at him rapidly.

 

_I SENT THE FUCKING MESSAGE PREMATURELY._


	3. Fall and Fall Harder

_Nothing like a good old fight to liven things up_ , Steve thought. It was early in the morning, painfully so, and Steve was freshly rested and ready to fuck some shit up. He wielded his knives graciously. They weren’t a set of knives, they weren’t even matching in the slightest, but they were knives that Steve had used all his life and he felt as if they were an extension of his own body.

 

He threw one with little to not effort across the room, hitting a member of the opposite force in the side of the neck. The blade wasn’t meant to sink into the skin, it was thrown with such strength that it cut straight through the man’s neck and stuck into the wall behind him. The man went down instantly, blood sailing through the air and landing against the pale concrete with such contrast that it almost mesmerized Steve.

 

Almost.

 

With the other blade in his left hand, he turned sharply to his right as another man, who had been creeping up behind him, lunged towards him, knife in hand. He was narrowly missed by the other man’s blade. In one quick move, Steve grabbed the man’s shirt collar and plunged the other knife deep into his chest. The dead weight of the man was almost enough to topple Steve over, but he kicked the man’s body square in the shoulder and his knife blade came free.

 

He gave a glance around the room, noticed that Sam had his hands full with two people at once, noticed that his men- despite being busy dealing with members of the gang- were nowhere near being overrun. That made him smirk, he really did have an impressively well trained group of men.

 

The heat of the battle, and the addreneline helped him keep his mind off constantly thinking of James, and constantly thinking about how James has _not_ texted him still.

 

Did Clint give James the number? The man seemed like a reliable guy, and a good friend, so it was unlikely he forgot.

 

Was it something Steve said? Did James just not like at all? He hoped that wasn’t true.

 

Steve didn’t have much time to ponder of all the possible reasons why he still haven’t heard from the man, he had ass to kick.

 

And, during the worst possible time ever, his phone went off. It wasn’t a call, thank god- he didn’t think that he’d be able to take a phone call and be able to hear him over the sound of the fighting either way. He took another glance around and saw nobody that would be able to get to him without a beat down from his guards, and he whipped out his phone. Yup, just straight up took out his phone. He _had_ to check it! What if it was James?

 

He had no doubt that his men would protect him while he figured out who was trying to contact him, he trusted that they’d eliminate any threat to his well being.

 

There were two texts, actually, from a number that he didn’t recognize until he read the content of the messages. It’d been a few days since he’d met James Barnes at the bar, and had James’s best friend deliver his number, and he smiled like a fool as he read them.

 

_“Hi, Steve. This is James Barnes- from the bar, if you remember me? Uhh, I was messaging you to ask if you wanted to go out for drinks again? If you’re up for it, we could go tomorrow. I’ve got a bar that gives me free drinks. And, if you wanted to, we coul”_

 

Steve smirked, because it appeared as if James had sent the message prematurely. And, sure enough, not even a minute later, the remainder of the sentence had come through.

 

 _“Sorry, my idiot-ass sent the message without finishing. What I was_ trying _to say, was after drinks, if you wanted to come back to my place for a movie or something, that’d be cool too. All in all, if you would like to get together tomorrow night, just give me a ring or text back and we can set up a time. -James.”_

 

Steve Rogers, a grown ass man, leader of a mafia, felt positively geedy as he finished reading the message. Smiling to himself he pressed the tip of the phone against his chin to think of a response. James Barnes, with his pretty and long hair, beard and chiseled face made him so happy with his stupid text that he forgot for a second where he was.

 

And inevitably, in Steve’s line of work, every second counts.  

 

Steve suddenly felt a hot sharp pain in his back. He didn’t yell out, just grunted, and lost his balance briefly. He caught himself swiftly, and felt a presence behind him- one that made a shiver go up his spine. He hadn’t felt the man come up behind him, he didn’t even have the faintest idea that he was even there. And, that terrified him.

 

He jerked his head around to look over his shoulder, down his back- just in time to see some low life piece of shit from the gang they were currently taking apart- holding the knife that was current inside Steve’s back.

 

The gang member that had stabbed Steve was shorter than him, laughably so, and even had to look up to meet Steves eyes. He seemed to be determined to stab him in the kidney, or whatever other major organs actually inhabited that section of Steve’s back, but all that confidence fell from his face swiftly as he realized that he missed his target.

 

He shouldn’t have missed. And he was gonna learn to regret that.

 

This scene made both Sam Wilson and Black Widow pause from their fights. Their eyes widened as they saw their boss, who swore up and down he could take care of himself, with a knife in his back. With a curse, the Black Widow quickly moved to disarm the two men she that she was handling by herself- not caring about killing them at that moment. Her only focus was rendering them unconscious, to protect her boss and leader. She raised her gun in the general direction of Steve’s assailant, pausing to look back at the men that she was supposed to take out to make sure they wouldn’t become a problem, but before she could even aim properly to provide support, a singular gunshot rang out somewhere in the space next to her.

 

For a second, she was almost scared. Not knowing where a gunshot came from was one of the worst things that could come up in the middle of a mafia fight, and she almost dropped to the ground before she saw a spectacular sight. She watches the gang member that currently had a knife in her leader’s back fall to his knees, completely limp. With no warning, another two or three gunshots rang out, hitting the body dead on, blood popping and streaming down the man’s body before his body fell face first into the ground. The blood pooled quickly, and she used that chance to get herself together before looking around to see who shot.

 

She looked up to see Sam Wilson. _Of course,_ she thought. _Of course it was Sam Wilson._ Sam Wilson had been Steve’s right hand man for years now, and was one of the rocks that kept him grounded and safe no matter what. One of his arms were stretched out before him in a perfect firing position, his gun still smoking. The other held a blood-glistening knife, dripping blood from the body that was lying on the floor next to him. There was an expression on Sam’s face that Natasha had never seen before, and it both concerned her and made her smirk.

 

It was an expression of pure, unadulterated anger, and the Black Widow suddenly felt very sorry for anyone who was about to cross Sam’s path for the rest of the fight- at least, until he got to Steve and made sure he was okay.

 

“Widow, get these guys for me,” Sam motioned towards the men fighting each other near him, and with no hesitation, she nods, taking her aim at them.

 

Steve, witnessing all of this from a seemingly third person perspective, feels stupid for getting so distracted in the middle of a fight that he got fucking _stabbed_ but, at the same time, he’s proud of his right hand man and the woman he hired.

 

Steve tried to move backwards to make himself less vulnerable to any more attacks that he’s obviously unable to confront himself, but winces in pain. The sudden pain caused him to go weak in the legs and knees, toppling forwards with no way to catch his footing on the blood-soaked floor below him. Before he can completely lose balance, though, Sam caught him, and in one swift move he raised Steve’s arm to put it over his shoulders to help him walk.

 

He maneuvers them away from the madness that is the ongoing fight- it’s still violent but it’s wearing down quickly. He’s got one arm and hand helping to stabilize Steve and help him walk, while the other hand is up and ready to begin firing at anyone who gets too close to comfort.

 

When Sam finally got Steve out of the goddamn warehouse, Steve’s legs finally give in and he sinks to his knees. Sam goes down with him, gently lowering him to the ground, he very, very testily says, “Man, what the fuck was that, Steve?”

 

Steve wanted to laugh at the tone that Sam was using with him, as well as how his right hand man managed to save his ass and insult it at the same time. And, additionally, kill at least four other people while carrying Steve’s deadweight like a burden because _he was stupid enough to get himself stabbed in the first place._ But, he kept himself from laughing because after all, that would just make the knife in his back hurt worse.

 

Thankfully Sam was not looking for his question to be actually answered in the first place.

 

The pain and blood loss was beginning to get to Steve, and he hazily watched as Sam took out his burner phone, using speed dial to ring someone quickly. Despite being not even two feet away from the man, Steve couldn’t concentrate on the words being exchanged for the life of him, and slumped into Sam a bit harder.

 

“Don’t you worry boss, that was the doc on the phone. He’s on his way, he won’t be long. We’ll get ya all patched up and ready to go.” Sam said, allowing Steve to rest his full weight on his body. The blood was still coming, warm and thick, and it was leaking into Sam’s somewhat still clean clothes, and pooling slowly around them.

 

Steve used his one arm that was free to reach back into his front pocket of his jacket and pulled out his phone. Yeah, he was stabbed. Yeah, he was currently bleeding out- but he _did_ have a date the next night that he was still yet to confirm.

 

Sam watched as he pressed send on the unfinished text from earlier, and his phone slipped out of his fingers at the last second, landing on the ground with a metallic thud. Steve was getting exhausted- so exhausted he could barely keep a grip on objects small enough for his hand. Sam quietly reached forward and grabbed the phone, slipping it into his own coat pocket.

 

The noise inside had died down, and Steve and Sam both had the same general idea that the mafia member right below Sam was pumping out order after order to finish the men off and get it cleaned up. Steve was getting rather nervous about that aspect, but as if Sam was reading his mind, he reassured his boss that the man knew what he was doing.

 

“Boss, stop fidgeting. You’ve literally got a knife inside of you. You’ll just hurt yourself more.”

 

“I’m fine, Wilson.” Steve grunted, attempting to get out of the puddle of blood that he was sitting in. It was only a light stab wound, after all. He hadn’t passed out yet so it must have missed everything important.

 

“Boss with all due respect, shut the hell up.”

 

Steve grumbled under his breath and leaned his head into Sam’s shoulder, closing his eyes. He really did need to have a talk about how his second in command talked to him.

 

—————————————————————

 

Sam Wilson might not have be a sly and cunning spy like Black Widow was, but he most definitely knew how to research and track people down. It took a little bit of digging, some amateur hacking, and bribing the hospital staff, but eventually, he got to Tony Stark.

 

Steve was still on bedrest, just until the next day, as the doctor just wanted to make sure there wasn’t any internal bleeding that the doctor missed. So, under the doctor’s strict orders and unable to leave the compound to do it himself, Steve had sent Sam to track down Tony.

 

And that, Sam did. Diligently.

 

Sam only had one order as well: convince Tony to come back to the compound with him so Steve could speak to him about things himself.

 

Tony Stark, with his job as cop, had a laughable salary. According to the nurse Sam paid to talk, Stark’s fiance was incredibly sick. The “you won’t recover ever from this” kind of sick. Sam, being somewhat common sensible, knew that the hospital bills weren’t going to be cheap. Combine expensive treatment bills with the shitty salary that Tony had, and he could safely pinpoint a major weak spot in Stark.

 

Putting two and two together pretty easily after that. He was doing small jobs for gangs and drug lords to try to pay for his fiance's treatments. And, Sam bet himself, his fiancé didn’t even know about it. He was just a man trying to keep the love of his life alive, doing whatever it took.

 

Deep down Sam felt guilty for using a man in this kind of a situation, but business was business and he would have been an idiot to let this opportunity pass.

 

He found out the room number from a rather sweet nurse- who he also gave his phone number to- and knocked lightly on the door. He knew Tony and Pepper were in there, although the lights were off and it was quiet. Tony’s shoes were sitting on the outside of the room in the hall, and Sam realized he would have to take Tony for a walk away from the room.

 

He was gearing himself up to knock again as the door opened, revealing a very tired looking Tony Stark. His hair was flecked with gray, as well as his facial hair, and he wore a pair of reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose carefully. The glasses were what brought Sam’s attention to the very big and very prominent black bags underneath his eyes.

 

 _Oh boy,_ San thought. _I’m about to put this man through hell over and over again._

 

“Officer Tony Stark?” Sam asked, even though he completely and obviously already knew who the man was.

 

Tony answered with a nod, looking behind him into the room quickly and then stepping outside with Sam, closing the door behind him. His clothes were rumpled and wrinkled, showing signs of being worn for a long period of time. He looked like shit, Sam noted, and despite being all tough and mighty in the mafia and whatnot, he still felt a pang of sadness in his chest. The short nod that he received as a response to his question prompted him to continue on.

 

“Can we speak privately for a few moments? Perhaps take a walk?” Sam said, keeping his voice serious but light, not wanting to turn the man away before he has a chance to talk. “I understand you are under a lot of personal and financial stress right now and I want to do anything in my power to help, if you’ll hear me out.”

 

Tony hesitated, obviously not trusting the man, but his Pepper was sleeping and he had nothing else to lose, why not hear what the man, who introduced himself as Sam Wilson, had to say?

 

Tony, with a final longing look at the hospital room door, slipped on his shoes. He hadn’t yet taken his eyes off Sam- he was trying to gauge how vibrant and trustworthy of a man he was- but he had that feeling like he should listen to him.

 

Sam motioned down the corridor towards the outside doors to the courtyard and off they set, side by side, Sam trying to calculate what he was going to say, and Tony worrying relentlessly about his fiancé.

 

“Not gonna lie to you man,” Sam begins, slightly hesitantly. “I know you have been helping out some small gangs here and there for money.”

 

Tony stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide. After a silent moment his tired face turned from exhausted expression to an angry one.

 

“So what is this then, huh? Some sort of blackmail?”

 

Sam raised his hands up in defense.

 

“No, man. We don’t wanna cause you any more hurtin’. In fact, we could help with the bills.”

 

Tony wasn’t an idiot so he asked, somewhat still angry, “The kind of money I need help with wouldn’t come without you wanting something back from me. And what do you mean,‘we’? I know I haven't slept in like weeks, but as far as I can tell it’s only you here.”

 

Tony hesitated, thinking about what more to say, and Sam took that opportunity to continue walking, forcing Tony to keep up with him. They were heading out of ear-range of any other people, and Tony’s irritation was fading away slowly.

 

Sam smirked. “Well, yes, nothing does come without a cost. I have a boss who needs you to give him information. The kind of information only a police officer such as yourself would have access to. And my boss will reward you handsomely for you services.”

 

“What kind of boss needs a cop to feed him information?”

 

“Well, you can see for yourself when you meet him.”

 

As Sam said that, they stopped walking, having reached a road. A car pulled up, a black and sleek sports car. Sam wordlessly opened the door, and looked back behind him at Tony, to clearly indicate he wanted the man to get in. Tony suddenly wished that he was on duty so he could’ve had his gun with him. Although, the look Sam gives Tony made him rethink that, as well as the way he stood to make sure his gun is visible from where its tucked in into his jeans, Tony decided that it was in his best interest to get in the car.

 

—————————————————————

 

“Boss?”

 

The voice penetrated itself through the hazy fog that had become James’s mind and he looked up in the general direction that it had come from. The air reeked with alcohol, and Clint wasn’t really surprised at the amount of half empty bottles and half full shot glasses that littered the table in front of James. It wasn't unusual for this to happen- even though it usually happened every couple months or so, when James got so stressed about his position in the mafia that it broke him emotionally and nearly drank himself to death. Clint had seen it coming too, which is why he was there in the first place, he had vowed himself to keep tabs on his boss and best friend no matter what.

 

The new mafia that had moved into the town on top of the deaths that had occured because of it were getting to James, Clint thought. Additionally, Steve moving up in James’s life like he had wasn’t exactly  non-stressful for him as well.

 

So yeah, James had a good fucking reason to be drinking away his sorrows- and that’s exactly what he was fucking doing as well. Just straight up drowning his problems in glass after glass and shot after shot of alcohol. James’s eyes were glossy, unseeing as Clint made his way towards the table, shutting the door behind him.

 

“Alright, that’s enough alcohol. Put the damn bottle down.”

 

James hesitated before pulling the glass of alcohol that he had freshly poured towards himself in defense. “And- and why do I need to stop?”

 

His voice was slow, catching on every other word or so, as if he was trying not to sound as drunk as he was.

 

“Because we both know this isn’t helping you at all.”

 

James bristled visibly at this, and turned to snarl at Clint. Clint held his ground however- he knew that James wasn’t a violent drunk, he knew that he was getting fucked up emotionally and couldn’t handle much more. So, he was here to help.

 

“You can finish that drink, but that’s it, okay?” Clint replied, not phased by the snarl.

 

James just huffed in response, slamming the rest of the drink down in one go, not wanting to hear what Clint was going to say. He really didn’t have a choice, however.

 

“What’s going on, boss?” Clint asked, getting straight to the point. He didn’t like dancing around issues, he wanted to get it done straight up. “Something’s off, is it just the leadership? Do you need a break?”

 

Something in Clint’s voice penetrated through everything on its way to James, even through the intoxicated mess that was his boss’s mind. James looked back at Clint again, and then down to the table. He nervously rubbed his hands together underneath the table, suddenly and inexplicably finding something very interesting about his hands.

 

“Is it getting bad again?”

 

The question was one that James would have given anything to avoid- it was one that he’d rather die than have to answer.

 

It had been awhile since the mafia had last gotten to him. And it wasn’t exactly as if the leadership was getting to him, god no. He trusted his men and they followed him loyally. It was just a combination of the stress of leading, the stress of losing men constantly. On top of that? The new mafia moving in as well.

 

“I don’t want anything to happen to him,” James slurred slightly as he rubbed a hand over his face to get himself to wake up slightly. “I wanna protect him but if he wants a relationship I have no way to keep him safe from the other mafia in town.”

 

“The other mafia is a worry, yeah,” Clint replies, taking the seat on the other side of the table so he could face James. “Is this because of the date?”

 

James’s silence is all that Clint needs to know that he needed to think of something and fast. He knew that the White Wolf couldn’t take much more physically or mentally, and he needed a solution, like right then.

 

 _God,_ Clint thought to himself as James poured himself another shot. _If only we could just kill the other m-_

 

That was it.

 

“Boss, Boss, what if we hired several hitmen to take out the leader of the other mafia? One of them would have to succeed, nobody is that lucky enough to _not_ get killed after 5 or 6 attempts.”

 

James considered this, taking several seconds to let his drunk mind comprehend what Clint just said, before drinking the last shot he poured quickly. He slammed the shot glass back down onto the counter with little to no abaddon, and slowly wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

 

“Are you sure this will work?” The words were coherent and smoothe- James was forcing himself to act sober in front of Clint. If Clint didn’t know how and better, he would’ve thought James was sober as well.

 

Clint hesitated, before giving the honest answer.

 

“You know I can’t promise that, James. You know I can’t. But isn’t it worth a try?”

 

James thought for a moment, before looking up at Clint. A new emotion was filling his eyes, it wasn’t anger or sadness. Clint recognized that emotion, he had seen it in so many other people- including himself- over his lifetime.

 

Fear.

 

“Alright,” James said with a nod, tracing his pointer finger on his right hand over the rim of the empty shot glass. “It’s worth a try.”


End file.
